


The Pirate and the Sith

by Naamah_Beherit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Sith Era - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/pseuds/Naamah_Beherit
Summary: Although everything is lost, certain things are impossible to let go even despite the pain they bring.





	

It is nothing but rumours at first.

Hushed whispers, nothing coherent but disturbing enough to be repeated over and over again during those long hours just before dawn. She cannot sleep recently; voices in her mind grow louder with each passing day, and it is something she has not experienced in a very long time. She has absolutely no problem of keeping them in line, but the arrival of the newest, _unwanted_ addition has made her spirit collection restless.

She has a feeling that Valkorion— _Vitiate_ , she corrects herself just as she always does; and the spirit in question always snorts in amusement at her determination—had absolutely no idea what he was getting himself into.

She does not pay attention to those whispers, there is too much to do, too many things to think about, too many operations to plan. She makes it a habit of meditating with Xalek every morning and of working with Talos Drellik whenever he finds an interesting artefact. It brings her at least a minimal amount of comfort and familiarity to endure life she did not choose and does not want, life she is forced to live now despite her will.

  _(after the first week_ _she simply took the Fury and flew to Yavin IV to vent all that tension and frustration which had been building up at a terrifyingly fast pace and threatened to make her lose those pathetic remnants of self-control she managed to cling on to. She did not tell anyone she was leaving, neither did she inform them about her destination, so by the time Lana Beniko – terrified beyond her wits and even more furious – found her, she was in the middle of a drunken, deeply philosophical dispute over the Sith Code with the extremely amused spirit of Exar Kun. She knew better than to try and bind_ him _– she was ambitious, not suicidal._

_Lana was complaining all the way back to Odessen; had she not been so hung over, she would have shocked the blonde for not knowing her place. In the end she opted for pretending to promise not to leave again without a word, and Lana pretended to believe her)_

 

* * *

 

It does not take long for another batch of rumours to reach her. She comes back from tearing apart yet another Star Fortress with Xalek by her side, tired and unimpressed, but successful as always.

 

  _(waves after waves of skytroopers and knights had fallen at their feet, struck down by lightning and lightsabers alike, but when she tore apart a paladin with a blast of sheer Force, all she could think about was that a sound of twin blasters firing should have accompanied the deafening roar of her thunder)_

 

 Theron Shan wants to brief her upon their return; apparently, there is a disturbing matter of thieves getting too bold for their own good, but she does not care. Her sentimentality makes her edgy and irritable, and the Republic spy is perceptive enough not to push and removes himself out of her way. The word about her mood must have spread around surprisingly quickly, because the base is unusually quiet this day. No one wants to have a word with her, no recruit is willing to share their input. It reminds her of the days on the Dark Council when she was given the respect she had earned and deserved. It brings back memories of the life she has led seemingly mere months ago.

Five years of her life have been taken from her and there is nothing she can do about it.

  _(the furniture in her quarters was in pieces the following morning. That night was the worst in her life by far – and she had years of slavery behind her to compare. After some time, when the fiery depths of her fury had burnt out, leaving her with nothing but ice-cold remnants of despair that lodged themselves in her heart and refused to let go, she sat on the floor with her back against the wall and realised that amongst all those people and things she had lost, she missed_ him _the most)_

 

 For the first time in years she is unable to count, she cries that night and hates herself for that.

 

* * *

 

Hylo Visz does not tell her about the first stolen shipment of supplies. Most of the operations happen without her awareness – delegating tasks and being interested in nothing but their results is something she has learnt after her ascension to the Dark Council. As it turns out, commandeering this so-called Alliance does not differ much from managing her powerbase and that is something she excelled at.

  _(Moff Pyron recently found his way back to her – battered, tired, and with fewer ships that would have been acceptable five years ago, but she did not care. It was a part of her life returned to her, a part she knew it was missing, but was not aware of how dear it was to her until the very moment she regained it. She practically ran to him and it terrified him beyond comprehension. It took all of her considerable willpower not to hug the old Moff in front of bystanders, and she simply accepted his respectful greetings as if nothing changed._

_“Darth Nox,” he bowed and she could see the fear in his eyes. “Please accept my apologies for such a late arrival. I present the ships and their crew for your inspection.”_

_“There is no need for that, Moff Pyron,” she said and smiled fondly. “I am certain you have kept my ships in the best possible shape.”_

_His face lit up at her words and that sight was like a piece of a puzzle that found its place. She allowed herself to think that everything might yet be all right despite all odds and that nauseating, lingering presence in her mind)_

 

 He treats her as if nothing has changed and she feels more like herself than she has done in the last few weeks.

 

* * *

 

She is not informed about the second stolen shipment of weapons and supplies; it happens when she is too busy scouring the Outer Rim with Moff Pyron in search for remnants of her fleet. They manage to find one of her subordinate Darths, and the Republic part of the Alliance regards them with scowls that night.

She is quite pleased with herself the next morning, so when Lana Beniko calls her to a meeting with Hylo Visz she does not expect anything problematic. The Mirialan’s face is twisted in an odd grimace, one quite unexpected for her. It slightly resembles fear and it is quite reassuring that despite that friendly attitude of hers, the smuggler still has some common sense left in her.

Then Hylo Visz tells her about the _third_ stolen shipment and a smell of ozone fills the air as lightning crackles between her fingers.

Two shipments have been stolen on Nar Shaddaa, one – most recently – on Tatooine. People responsible have not yet been identified and that news causes her anger to almost ignite the Dark Side around her. Lana rushed the Mirialan out of the room before she loses control. All of that stress, all of that frustration – suddenly it is too much to bear. She becomes a tempest and fury, the Dark Side embodied, and she finally allows herself to be Darth Nox again, unchained, unbroken, unburdened by this pathetic little Alliance.

Then she summons Xalek and appoints the surprised Kaleesh a temporary commander of the base before she simply takes the Fury and departs for Tatooine.

  _(Lana Beniko was kneeling in front of her and it looked like quite some time had passed since the last time she did that. Darth Arkous was probably the last Sith to see her on her knees._

_“Dark Lord,” she finally said, embarrassment almost palpable in her voice, “if I may—“_

_“You may not,” she cut her in, preparing a set of orders to be carried out during her absence. Theron Shan and Senya Tirall were watching them from a considerable distance, clearly worried but smart enough not to interfere._

_She handed the datapad over to Xalek, who accepted it with a bow, and then approached Lana to lift her chin so that she was able to look into her eyes. Her touch is gentle, more a fleeting caress than a strong grip._

_“Nobody steals from me, Beniko,” she said. “Nobody.”_

_A muttered and almost unintelligible, “Yes, Dark Lord,” followed her when she left, her ‘commander’ title forgotten as it were never there._

 

* * *

 

She  roams Tatooinian cantinas clad in old, simple black robes she has found in her wardrobe about the Fury. The hood hides her face, and all these dark corners she chooses obscure her presence. The first week results in so success in determining which gang is responsible for the theft, and the only feat she manages to accomplish is developing a distaste for cheap alcohol.

It is astonishing how quickly numerous new gangs has sprouted in place of charred remains of the Exchange she left in her wake during her last visit on this planet.

On top of it all, this pitiful ball of sand brings more memories than she is willing to admit, memories that cannot be drowned in alcohol no matter how hard she is trying to do that.

 

* * *

 

She reaches a point where she is simply willing to dispatch every singly gang she can possibly find when she finally stumbles upon the correct one.

They gloat about their recent hit on the Knights of Zakuul and she unwillingly admits she is a little bit impressed with that. Then they start planning a hit on the Alliance again, and that tiny bit of admiration is gone in a blink of an eye. She downs her drink and leaves, this time with a smile on her face.

She comes back next day, finally wearing her usual attire, and does not hold back.

 

* * *

 

The Force reeks of anger and not a small doze of fear when they seek her out a few hours later. Her Force storm crystallises the sand at the bottom of a hole which used to be a spot in which they stood.

A solitary, unarmed woman comes next, her hands held up in a universal gesture of surrender. Currents of the Force sing of her terror, but there is also a shocked disbelief when she is close enough for them both to recognise each other’s faces.

“Well,” the woman stutters and lowers her hands a little, “I’ll be damned.”

“Casey Rix,” she replies and holsters her lightsaber. She does not need it anyway. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

 

  _(the last time she saw Casey Rix, the cocky smuggler was flirting with_ him _, but she did not mind then. All she cared about was to get off that dusty rock, take a long shower and sleep for a week. She let him into the pilot’s chair and – as it turned out – it was not the only thing he eventually claimed as his)_

 

 They are sitting in a cantina, watching each other over two glasses of brandy. She cannot see any of Casey’s people, but she does not delude herself that they are not watching. Not that it would help.

“So, uhm,” Rix clears her throat, “the Dark Council, huh? That’s quite a career, I guess.”

“You can guess whatever you want.”

Casey shoots her a nervous glance and seems to rearrange her thoughts. “Look,” she tries again, “I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m sure we can work things out, you and I, right? You seemed like a reasonable person the last time we met.”

“That was before you started stealing from me.”

“Hey, we steal from everyone,” Rix laughs nervously. “You know the drill.”

Lighting crackles between her fingers when she leans towards the smuggler. “’Wrong answer,” she says in a sweet voice and Rix loses whatever composure she had.

 

* * *

 

There are many masks she had been wearing over the last few years – she was a prophet, a fugitive, and a saviour; she was a destroyer and a murdered, and even a woman who loved and was loved in return – but beneath all of those, she has always first and foremost been an inquisitor.

It does not take long for Casey Rix to break and shout a name she does not expect to hear in these circumstanced. She does not let any emotion show on her face, instead releasing the smuggler and reaching for a datapad to write a note.

“Bring your _boss_ ,” she cannot force herself to speak his name aloud, the wounds are too fresh and the pain is too great, “to these coordinates in three standard weeks. My representative will meet you there.”

Rix regards the datapad with distrust, but takes it nonetheless. “What,” she begins, “so that you may kill him instead of me?”

“So that I can offer you both a profitable job,” she answers and leaves the cantina without another word.

 

* * *

 

A scream of rage she lets out aboard the Fury almost shatters her ship to pieces.

 

* * *

 

She is late to greet them and it does not improve everyone’s mood. Hylo Visz is nervous in a way that betrays a failure – it is a question for another times what she failed at. Lana Beniko and Senya Tirall are nearby, probably intending to stop her if she loses her temper. And _he_...

He is furious, the Force around him is lit up by his rage like a star. He reaches for his blasters, she turns on her lightsaber, and the entire world falls silent.

  

_(she replied to his messages as soon as she read them, in a hangar bay of the Gravestone where she retreated to find a moment of solitude._

_An answer to her emails never came and the solitude she had managed to find followed in her wake for much longer than just a moment)_

 

 They do not fight; somehow, he loses the will for it almost as soon as he takes out his blasters. Neither does he yell in front of everybody and she is grateful that he at least remembers she will not accept overt disrespect. Not even from him.

“You stole from me,” she says, and the pain and hurt that flashed in his eyes is almost like a punch in the gut.

“I guess I did.”

His voice carries no sign of that warm affection she is so fond of, but at least he does not object. They agree to negotiate and she leaves both him and Hylo Visz for Beniko to supervise, intending to spend all that time in Odessian wilderness, making a dent in a population of local predators.

She cannot remember what she expected, but at least she is glad she did not feed herself with false hopes and childish delusions. It hurts almost too much already.

Valkorion whispers in her mind and for once she is listening.

 

* * *

 

 The night has long but fallen when he seeks her out. She lets him succeed even though she does not want to. Or maybe she does. Nothing can be certain and for the first time in her life she is hesitant of her own steps and decisions.

“Five years,” he says and it is as much of a greeting as it is a reproach.

“Three months,” she replies and it is the closest to ‘I’m sorry’ she is able to vocalise.

He looks at her for what seems to be eternity and then sits on a couch as if it were his. As if he belonged.

“Tell me,” he asks and she obliges without a question, without objections, without betraying how much she craves the comfort only he can give in this circus her life has turned into.

It—he—is a weakness and she hates herself for harbouring it.

He is silent afterwards, lost in thoughts to an extent she had never seen in him before. She expected mockery or perhaps an exasperated remark about the last time she decided that collecting ghosts was a good idea. He does nothing of what she imagined he would.

It is terrifying. It fuels her unspoken fear of how much people can change over the years.

“Well?” she forces herself to ask. Harshly, uncaringly. “What now?”

He looks at her thoughtfully and reaches out all of a sudden, too quickly for her to react. She looks down at his hand clasping hers, at his fingers entwining wit hers as if there were no separation of five years, no carbonite and no madness between them. Then she raises her eyes to meet his and there is a smirk on his face, that lopsided smile she always adored.

And it is the only answer she needs.

 

 

_Fin_


End file.
